


(If I’m Breathing) This Is Not the End

by MercurialTenacity



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Begging, Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood Loss, Captivity, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Force-Feeding, Grindelwald is Cruel, Injury, M/M, Nightmares, Not A Happy Ending, Psychological Torture, Suicidal Thoughts, Terror, Vampire Grindelwald, dispair, sort of, threat of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 19:56:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10726143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercurialTenacity/pseuds/MercurialTenacity
Summary: Graves drags himself upright, palms pressed to the cold stone floor beneath him, and tries to get his bearings.  He knows what to do, he knows how to keep his head, and he does his best to prepare himself for whoever is going to come through the door to his cell.  When the door swings open it’s Grindelwald, and Graves doesn’t understand why that sends his senses into overdrive.  He doesn’t understand why he has the overwhelming feeling that it’s hopeless, because yes Grindelwald is powerful but he’s not – he’s not – oh god.He’s not human.  The way he moves, hissmile,dear god.  Graves knows what he is.





	(If I’m Breathing) This Is Not the End

**Author's Note:**

> All the love to [ fantastic-beasts-smut](https://fantastic-beasts-smut.tumblr.com/) for coming up with this amazing idea, and writing some of Grindelwald's best lines <3
> 
> This fic is designed to be intense, so please be warned.

Graves drags himself upright, palms pressed to the cold stone floor beneath him, and tries to get his bearings.  The cell he’s in is small, stone floor and stone walls, with a small cot secured in an alcove.  It’s a bit medieval, really, and Graves would scoff at the sense of melodrama his captor must possess.  Graves has been abducted before.  He’s had a long career, and these things do happen.  He knows what to do, and he knows how to keep his head.  He’ll get himself out if possible, but the priority is to hold out long enough for MACUSA to find him.  He has good people, and he has no doubt they will.  It’s going to be an unpleasant couple days, but that’s all.

Graves does his best to prepare himself for whoever is going to come through the door to his cell.  He doesn’t have his wand of course, but he is unrestrained.  That would seem to indicate a lofty overconfidence on the part of his captor, which may give Graves some slight advantage.

Graves doesn’t have long to wait.  He pulls himself up to standing when the lock on the door rattles, determined to be on as equal terms as possible, steeling himself for whatever is about to come next, and – and his heart starts to thud when the door opens, intense enough to steal his breath.

It’s Grindelwald.  It’s Grindelwald in the doorway and Graves doesn’t understand why that sends his senses into overdrive.  He doesn’t understand why he has the overwhelming feeling that it’s hopeless, because yes Grindelwald is powerful but he’s not – he’s not – oh god.  He’s not human.  The way he moves, his _smile,_ dear god.  Graves knows what he is.

“Percival, my dear,” Grindelwald purrs, and Graves shudders.  “It's so nice to have you.”

Graves had met a vampire once before.  He’d been part of a task force assigned to hunt the thing down, and he remembers vividly the dark, primal fear it was capable of inspiring – just before it lulled O’Connell into a stupor and tore a bloody swath through his team.  Graves hadn’t slept well for a long time after that.

Grindelwald is worse.  Grindelwald is so much worse.

Graves holds himself firm.  He is going to get through this.  Whatever Grindelwald has planned for him he will survive it, and when it’s over he will see him arrested and brought to justice for the atrocities he’s committed.  It’s his job, it’s his duty, and it’s that thought which will see him through.

Grindelwald steps through the doorway and Graves’ breath stalls painfully in his chest.  His back slams into the wall before he even realizes he’s moving, stumbling backwards because dear god, Grindelwald is advancing towards him and the reality of the situation sinks in.  Graves is trapped in a cell with a vampire between him and the door, no way out, no way to hold him off.  He tries to draw up his magic even without his wand, to hurl an expulso at Grindelwald and at least give himself a chance, but it slips through his fingers.  And he realizes, he knows, it’s hopeless.  He can’t escape a vampire, his mind his screaming at him to run, to flee, but there’s nowhere to go.  Grindelwald seems to fill the entire cell, and there’s no escape.

Graves strikes out desperately, because if he can't flee he has to fight.

Grindelwald easily catches his wrist as he tries to swing his fist, grip painfully tight and no, _no_ , this can't be happening.  He shoves hard at Grindelwald's chest with his remaining free hand, palm sliding over the smooth fabric of his clothes, searching for purchase, for something to struggle against. 

It's over before he can get in a hit.  Grindelwald pins his wrists behind his back and pulls him in tight, until Graves overbalances and falls against his chest.  Grindelwald's arms wrap around him, unyielding, strong.  He holds Graves tight against his body, firm and secure, somehow almost gentle.  Graves jerks against him weakly, instinctively, but without any hope of escape.  He's pinned against the wall by Grindelwald's body, cold stone at his back and cold vampire at his front, easily overpowered.  As he knew he would be.

"Shhhh, shhh shhh." Grindelwald's finger is on Graves' throat, pressing just so, and Graves can’t help the sob that escapes him.  His entire body is trembling. "There is no need to be afraid."  Grindelwald is mocking him, lips curving up.  Graves stares into his eyes, trembling, his heart pounding frantically in his chest, far past even his feeble attempts to struggle against this creature.  He had no idea how much greater than him Grindelwald was.

"You stay still and it won't hurt." Graves gives a pleading whimper that trails into a sob and Grindelwald smirks. "Much."

It's like a nightmare.  A waking terror, one of those brutal traps of the mind where he can see the danger approaching but can't make his legs move to run, like he's stuck in molasses, helpless to wait for whatever horror is bearing down to consume him.

But it's real.

It's real and Grindelwald's finger slides down his throat to his collar, over his adam’s apple, pulling his tie away and undoing the first two buttons of his shirt, pressing his finger into the dip of Graves' collarbone, the softness of the pad coupled with the scratch of his nail.  Grindelwald is smiling, his teeth glint white, and they look _wrong_.  Graves shudders as Grindelwald leans in close, closer, bending down to his neck until Graves can feel his breath on the exposed skin, making it prickle.

Graves' breath comes fast and shallow, building and building and he can't control it, can't control his own breathing in the face of Grindelwald's power.  He strains to lean his head away, to put any distance at all between his skin and Grindelwald's teeth.  Grindelwald's hand slides from his collar to the back of his neck, squeezing, holding him in place.

"Hush now.  There is nothing you can do."

It's true. 

Graves feels a touch at his neck and he flinches violently, but it's not the sharp pinch of teeth he was expecting.  It's soft.  Wet.  Grindelwald licks him softly, gentle strokes with his tongue that press into his skin, lips mouthing him, and he feels Grindelwald smiling against his skin.  But he doesn’t feel teeth.  Grindelwald hasn’t bitten him yet.

Maybe it should be a relief, but Graves can _feel_ how close Grindelwald’s teeth are to his artery.  It doesn’t feel like a reprieve, it feels like standing still to watch a bullet coming towards him in slow motion.  Every nerve is burning with the impulse to run but he is too afraid, too _goddamn afraid_ of Grindelwald’s teeth catching on his skin, to do anything more than hold as still as he can while tears trace down his cheeks.

Grindelwald keeps him waiting, licking and sucking at him, and each time Graves feels teeth nearing his skin he tenses, expecting it to be the end, but it's not.  Grindelwald is playing with him and he knows it, he knows exactly what he's doing, but he can't calm himself down.  The fear keeps cycling through him, ramping up and up as Grindelwald's teeth near him, heightened with the feeling of Grindelwald's tongue.  He tries to breathe but he’s choking, and he tries to be still but he’s trembling.

He's trapped in Grindelwald's grip, he can't move at all, and when he finally feels the barest hint of teeth at his throat his mind whites out with panic and terror and he's begging, god no, please no, _please_ he'll do anything, he doesn’t want to die, not like this please –

It doesn’t end.  Graves has the desperate thought that it might never end, that Grindelwald will keep him hanging on the edge of his own oblivion until he breaks and his heart gives out, because there is no possible way that it can beat so quickly for much longer.  He knows it’s a game, he knows Grindelwald is playing with him, toying with him, he knows that, but it doesn’t change the adrenaline flooding through his system or the pleading, half-formed prayers that fall from his lips.  He just wants this to end.

But that would require Grindelwald to have _mercy._

Graves should know better.

He can’t get his mind together to even try to calm himself.  It’s an instinct, it’s not something he can control.  Every part of his mind looks at Grindelwald and screams _predator._   He's sobbing openly, tears running down his cheeks, and each time Grindelwald's teeth brush him it rises in his chest and all he can do is wait in Grindelwald's grip and beg _please, no_.

Grindelwald draws it out.  He leaves Graves in his cell just long enough for his tired mind to spiral into exhausted, fitful sleep before he wakes with a start, vampire above him again.  Grindelwald drags him over to the cot and pulls Graves down beside him, guiding him to lay with his back pressed up close to Grindelwald’s chest, his mind hazy with fatigue and fear.  Graves quivers as Grindelwald strokes his waist, fingers brushing through the thin fabric of his shirt, as his other hand curls into his hair.  He traces absently over Graves’ chest, up along his collarbone, following the curve of his ribs from his spine to his center.  All the while Graves feels Grindelwald’s breath on the back of his neck, and he weeps.

Sometimes Grindelwald just sits in Graves’ cell.  He’ll bring a book or a newspaper, a quill and some parchment, and won’t pay any attention to Graves at all.  And Graves cowers in the corner, pressing himself closer into the wall with every breath Grindelwald takes, as though it would help him at all.  His senses are on hyper alert, cued in to every move Grindelwald makes, every rustle of paper, every creak of the thin mattress he sits on.

Grindelwald leaves the door open.  Wide open.  Graves might be able to make it if he ran.  Grindelwald knows he won’t.  If Graves runs Grindelwald will try to catch him, and the idea of Grindelwald grabbing him from behind, dragging him backwards into the cell and he can’t, he can’t do it, he can’t make a move to draw Grindelwald’s attention.  He can’t make himself that vulnerable.  And the fact that Grindelwald knows it beyond any doubt sends a current of shame spiking through the wash of fear.

Grindelwald brings him food.  He’s not a monster, except that he is.  Graves can’t eat it.  Grindelwald sets the plate in front of him and wraps his arms around him from behind, pressing a palm against his chest, right over his heart.

“Aren’t you going to eat?”

Grindelwald’s fingers dance over the cartilage of his ear, almost tickling, and Graves forces himself to reach forward and pick up a piece of the bread Grindelwald brought.  His hand is shaking so badly he can barely get it up to his lips, and when he takes a bite he chokes.  His throat won’t open, he can’t force himself to swallow, his body won’t allow it.  This is a time for running or fighting, not eating.

“Come Percival, we mustn’t let you lose your strength.”

Grindelwald shifts him until Percival is laying back, cradled in one arm, looking up at the creature smirking down at him.  Grindelwald must love it, to see a man like Graves brought so low.

He presses a bite of bread to Graves’ lips, and Graves doesn’t know what to do.  He’s caught between being paralyzed with fear and doing whatever he’s told.

He opens his mouth for it.  Grindelwald tucks it inside, presses his mouth closed, and Graves chews.  His mouth is dry and it feels like he’s chewing on sand, like whatever’s in his mouth can’t possibly be edible.  He swallows, and he gags.  Grindelwald holds him down until Graves manages to swallow without choking, petting his cheek, and Graves flinches.  Grindelwald picks up another piece of bread.  They do it again.

On the third day Graves has stopped thinking about escape, he just wants the fear to end.  He should be growing accustomed to the presence of a vampire, his body should be able to regulate itself, even if he can never truly relax he shouldn’t be feeling _terror._   But he is.  It’s a constant ache in his chest, a constant thrumming in his nerves, and he can’t do it anymore.  He hates himself, but he knows what vampires can do.  He knows how they lull their prey.

“Please, please, I don’t want to do this anymore, I-I can’t.”

Grindelwald curls a finger under his chin, crouching next to him as Graves lays huddled in on himself on the floor.  Grindelwald is smiling.  He’s always smiling.

“What are you asking for, pet?”

“Please… take the fear away,” Graves gasps, “please, I-I know you can.”

Three days ago Graves would have said it was a fate worse than death to be alive but totally controlled, with no will of his own.  Three days ago was before Grindelwald.

Grindelwald laughs at him, delighted with his fear, and Graves closes his eyes.

Every time Grindelwald comes for him Graves prepares himself.  _This is it_ , he thinks, _this is the end._  

But it’s not.

Grindelwald comes for him, Grindelwald plays with him, and it’s not over, why, dear god why can’t it be over?  His body can’t do this and there’s no hope of rescue.  The things that Grindelwald would do to his aurors if they came – Graves hopes they never find him.  It mixes into his nightmares, watching as Grindelwald tears into the throat of Burnett, of Finley, of Goldstein, teeth stained crimson and drinking until they drop lifeless to the ground.  Their blood pools on the floor, spreading out along the channels between the stones, away from their bodies and towards Graves.  It’s filling the room and he’s scrambling backwards away from it, away from the fading, betrayed stares of his aurors asking him why he didn’t save them.  He’s gasping silently, he can’t even save himself, he’s going to die here, oh god – He wakes up screaming to see Grindelwald silhouetted in the doorway.

Please god, please let it end.

Graves can’t sleep, he can’t breathe, he can’t go on.

“Are you really asking me to bite you?" Grindelwald says, gently, and no – no, he doesn’t – Graves tries to scrabble backwards, he wouldn’t ask for that, would he?  He just – he just wants…  Why doesn’t he fight?

Grindelwald’s fingers curl around the back of his neck, pressing his cheek against the cold stone of the floor, and Graves is weeping again.

Graves doesn’t even know what he’s afraid of anymore.  The worst that Grindelwald can do to him will only serve to end the fear, and the certain knowledge that he’s going to die in this cell should bring some resigned peace of mind.  It doesn’t.  Such dignified serenity escapes him utterly, and leaves him only with a burning, horrified dread.

It’s the fifth day – the sixth?  Or… Graves doesn’t know.  But it’s been so long, days more, when Grindelwald gathers Graves into his arms and settles him against his shoulder, finger stroking over his pulse and one arm around his waist.  He has Graves so secure, vampire on one side and stone wall on the other, and Graves just closes his eyes and cries into the side of Grindelwald’s neck.

“Shh, shh, shh.”  Grindelwald is rocking him, gathered in his lap, and Graves can’t stop crying, his hands twisting helplessly in the fabric of Grindelwald’s shirt.  Grindelwald just holds him like that, murmuring to him as though comforting a child, rubbing his back and pressing his head down firmly into the crook of his neck.

“What do you need, hm?  Tell me Percival, is there something you want?”  Graves is taking big, shuddering sobs, as Grindelwald bends his head down to lick under the line of Graves’ jaw.  Graves twists, but it only serves to push him closer against Grindelwald.  Grindelwald presses his finger under Graves’ chin, nail just digging into him, and takes his earlobe in his teeth.  Graves feels the slow scrape as Grindelwald tugs, teeth sliding over his skin, and Grindelwald whispers in his ear.  “Would you like for me to bite you?”  Grindelwald offers it gently, as though a creature such as him were capable of compassion.  “All you need do is ask.  Is that something you would like?”

No, no – yes – he wouldn’t like that, he wants the fear to end, he – he doesn’t realize he’s stopped begging _please no_ and started begging _please yes_ until Grindelwald’s smile spreads.

“That’s it, pet.  Shush now.”

Horror shoots through him as he realizes what he's saying but he can't make himself stop, he doesn't even know if he wants to.  He can't take it anymore, he can't do it, and it's about to end.  His breathing is fast, erratic, as Grindelwald presses his tongue to Graves’ neck, wet and soft. 

And then the hard press of teeth.  It’s happening so quickly and Graves can feel his pulse racing, breath coming rapid, as the first burst of pain shoots through him when Grindelwald’s teeth pierce his flesh.

Graves stills.

He feels… relief.  It's over.  It's finally over.  There's nothing left to fight, no struggle left to give.

And it hurts, it burns, but it doesn't matter.  He can feel the blood trickling down his neck, dripping onto his shirt to join the stains of dirt and sweat.  He's sobbing but he's smiling too, clinging to Grindelwald, hands wrapping around his shoulders to draw him closer.  Grindelwald is lapping at his neck, teeth digging into him again, and Graves holds him close.

Before long the pain fades, and Graves is floating.  Everything is fuzzy and Graves feels Grindelwald against him, firm.  His vision doesn't seem to work right and Graves blinks, but his eyes don't open again.  That's all right.  His body is growing heavier and he sags, his grip loosening, but Grindelwald doesn't let him fall.  Graves can feel his heartbeat reverberating through his body, like a drumbeat in his ears, and he listens to it as it slows.  He's so tired.  He's been so scared for so long, and he wants to rest.  He knows Grindelwald will take care of him, and the thought comforts him.

The tension is leaving him and it feels so good, euphoric almost, and he would probably be laughing if he weren't so tired.  He's going to sleep, he's going to rest, it's nearly over.

His grip weakens and his hand slips from Grindelwald’s shoulder to hang limply at his side.  He’s floating away, he doesn’t think anything could stop it now.

Grindelwald is laying him down, and Graves would reach for him but his body has grown too heavy to move.  His head lolls to the side, exposing the bloody gash, and Grindelwald hums.  Graves can feel his breath against his skin as Grindelwald leans down, licking up the blood that Graves’ heart is feebly pumping out.

“You taste so sweet.”

It’s almost over.

He feels fingers pressing at the wound, hears Grindelwald’s low murmur of “ _vulnera sanetur… vulnera sanetur…”_ He doesn’t understand, but he doesn’t have to.  The world is sliding away from him, and the only things he’s aware of are Grindelwald’s voice and the sensations in his body.  The cold numbness seeping into his limbs, the slow shuddering of his heart, the itch of the skin at his neck as it knits itself back together.

Grindelwald places a soft kiss on his neck.  Slow, affectionate.  His finger falls on Graves’ lips.

“Was that so bad?”  Grindelwald is stroking his face, the line of his cheek, and Graves can hear the smile in his voice.  He leans in close, voice whisper soft but harsh with satisfaction.

_“You’ll come to love it.”_

Even in his semi-conscious state, Graves understands.

It’s not over.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at [ mercurial-tenacity.tumblr.com ](http://mercurial-tenacity.tumblr.com/)! :)


End file.
